


Chapter One: Murphy's Law

by kittenscully



Series: One of Us [1]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Compliant, F/F, Found Family, I don't know how many fics this series will be but I know this is the start of it, Internalized Homophobia, Not too much, Platonic Relationships, Post-Battle of Starcourt, but in future fics in this series there will be fully fledged versions of both, except that hopper lives and the byers don't move away, group fic, it's really just robin + the crew in the aftermath, life-changing realizations after trauma?, robin & steve is platonic, so far at least, steve being the best friend in the world, there's only hints of ronance and elmax so I'm sorry about the tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-30 07:47:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21424708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittenscully/pseuds/kittenscully
Summary: Anything that can exist, will exist. The phrase sounds nicer in her head than the original, and it occurs to Robin that she too could be something that simply exists, rather than something that went wrong somewhere along the way.[in which Robin goes through hell and comes out singing.]
Relationships: Eleven | Jane Hopper/Maxine "Max" Mayfield, Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley/Nancy Wheeler
Series: One of Us [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1544536
Comments: 19
Kudos: 171





	Chapter One: Murphy's Law

**Author's Note:**

> so, this is my first stranger things fic! I started it immediately after finishing s3 a month or so ago because I needed to write about Robin becoming part of the family and changing after what happened, and it took me awhile to turn it into something I actually liked, but I think we're finally here. 
> 
> my plan for this AU is to write a series of oneshots about Robin and the crew, centering on the other female characters (and steve, of course), each about a different event or developing relationship. they'll all have titles like this, and I don't know how many there'll be yet, but I've already got the one that's full-fledged robin/nancy in the works, so subscribe to the series to see more! please leave kudos/comment, and come say hi to me on tumblr @robinwheelers!

The air in the mall is thick with soldiers’ shouts and the smell of burning flesh, smoke from fireworks still hazy in the air, and Robin is bundled down the still escalator like a buoy, losing sight of Steve and every other familiar face as army fatigues press in on all sides. She should be shutting down, she knows that, consciously, but she isn’t. And it might be some weird side effect of the drugs, or of fighting for her life – she really couldn’t say which, having no prior experience based on which to judge – but either way, she’s never felt more alive. 

It’s noisy and too warm outside, and Robin wonders if this is what a descent into madness feels like: not a painful, frightening fall, but a joyful rush downwards away from all rationality. Her converse slosh up iridescent water carelessly as she’s shoved between groups of people, finally coming to a stop on the sidewalk. Someone asks if she’s injured, and she wants to say that she honestly doesn’t know, that the usually structured frame of her mind is in too much disarray to tell, but all she can do is shake her head dazedly, distracted by headlights and exhilaration and the snippets of conversation that poke their way into her awareness.

Behind her, she hears the whir of the mall’s backup generator coming on, and looks over her shoulder to see Starcourt’s damaged facade light up hauntingly in flickering neon. By the time she turns back, whoever had been asking about her has moved on, leaving her relatively alone, and she can’t blame them, considering they definitely have far more pressing things to worry about. 

Robin wraps her trembling arms around herself, and tries to take inventory, hoping to at least assign a cause to her current giddy instability.

Her head isn’t dizzy like earlier, which is good, but her whole body is practically vibrating, and focusing on that sensation sends her focus reeling. Her heartbeat is so big that she can’t seem to fill her lungs, not with this adrenaline kick still surging through her system, not when her life has suddenly become the stuff of spy novels and action movies. Not now that the doors of possibility and improbability are blown wide open to reveal that monsters are real and kids can have superpowers and  _ Nancy Wheeler,  _ of all people, can shoot a gun, and that there really are horrors hiding behind every corner, and that there really are people who want her beside them, even once they know who,  _ what _ she is. 

“...never seen so many problems all stacked on top of each other like this,” grumbles a deep voice somewhere nearby, and Robin snaps her head to look, quick as a startled animal, spots the officer who’s talking a little ways away. “I swear, this town is a magnet for problems. Can’t have six months without something going wrong.”

The conversation flicks a well-worn, familiar switch in Robin’s brain, and she remembers Murphy’s Law and clings to it, mouthing the nihilistic words as she’s done so many times before.  _ Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong. Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong. Anything that can go wrong…  _

Lips moving by muscle memory, Robin catches onto the beginning of a train of thought and hangs on for dear life, hoping that the stability of thinking through something in an organized fashion will ground her.

Ever since she’d first heard about it, she’d thought that Murphy’s Law must work particularly strongly in Hawkins, or, rather, in the case of her own life, which, so far, has taken place almost entirely in Hawkins.  _ One big error _ . But now, Robin has to assume that it applies on a much, much bigger scale than she’d previously imagined. Anything that can go wrong, from spraying her face with the water fountain by accident to an entire Russian invasion and a monster crashing through the ceiling of a mall, will go wrong. 

And it’s oddly comforting,the idea that she’s not, in fact, the center of misfortune in Hawkins, that her mistakes are nothing compared to the scale of the disasters that she’s now seen with her own eyes. 

Come to think of it, recently, Robin finds that her choices don’t feel much like mistakes at all, not even when they’ve lead to near-death experiences. In fact, the hardest choice she’s had to make, the one she’d been convinced would go bad, had completely flipped her expectations on their head. 

She’d chosen to trust Steve, told him the secret that lived in the shameful place at the back of her throat, and he hadn’t hated her. The relief of finally letting someone really know her had felt like relaxing every single muscle all at once after years of tension she hadn’t even known she was holding, like suddenly being limitless after keeping herself constrained for so long.

Robin catches on, then, the lightbulb going off in her brain. It isn’t just drugs, or just adrenaline from the fight that are making her so impossibly energetic and giddy. It’s that addicting feeling of freedom, of being seen and understood and accepted, surging through her like neon, flickering to life and brightening and brightening until she swears she must be lit up and glowing like the sign behind her. 

“Robin!” There’s a thud, one that sounds more like a body than anything, and Robin jolts, sees torn knuckles shoving between a cluster of solid men to her right.

“Steve?” She shouts back, and the rest of him appears as if on cue, landing against her heavily. “Steve,” she repeats, probably too loud, a reckless laugh forcing its way out of. Steve grabs her forearms, pulling her solidly back into her body. 

“Hey, watch it, kid!” One of the men shouts.

“Yeah, fuck you too,” Steve grumbles, rolling his eyes, clearly directed at the soldiers but not loud enough for them to hear. “Letting us do the work and then showing up late and acting like you own the place.”

“Classic,” Robin laughs breathlessly. Steve shakes his head, mutters a  _ come on _ under his breath.

He pushes her away from the barking soldiers who he’d just so rudely jostled his way in between, further behind the firetruck parked near the curb, and she just keeps giggling and glowing as he walks her backwards, caught up in the ridiculous improbability of the moment, of the whole situation, their entire friendship. 

“Are you – why are you laughing, are you still high on that Russian shit?” He’s slurring a little, and he seems to be concerned, maybe. But it’s hard to read in this light with his stupid, beat up face, which really just reminds Robin of the bathroom, and of how he’d stayed right there, close to her, even after he’d learned about her. And now, he’s right here and holding onto her like he’s got to keep her from flying away, which is a reasonable reaction considering how manic she feels, and all Robin can really do is grin, punch-drunk on acceptance and the sudden widening of her world after speaking it all out loud. 

Before she can get herself together enough to reply, Steve starts talking again. “Wait, am I still high? Robin, ask me when the last time I peed my pants was.”

“No, dingus, ” Robin says, an ugly snort of laughter following immediately after. “We’re not high.”

He narrows his eyes at her, or she thinks he does, and she rolls hers in response, affectionately. “We’re not high, Harrington.” 

Another pause, then a shrug. “Okay,” he says, agreeably, like the idiot that he is, and Robin has the familiar, overwhelming impulse to hug him, and no reason in the world not to anymore. 

Steve brings her crashing into his chest before she can follow through on the urge herself, his arms wrapping around her. She hasn’t the faintest clue how he manages to hug her so tightly, not after all the punching and being-punched he’s done tonight, but she absolutely loves him for it, and it’s suddenly the simplest, most obvious thing to hold onto his stupid Scoops shirt and let her chin fall onto his shoulder, making sure it doesn’t end too soon. 

“Hey, is this weird?” Steve mumbles, and pulls back just a little, as if he’s only now remembering that there’s any reason at all he should’ve thought twice before grabbing her. There’s a hint of nervousness on his face, like he thinks he might be pushing her boundaries, and at that realization, she loves him even more.

“Steve,” she says, shaking her head. “This is the least weird hug I’ve had in seven years.” 

“Oh,” he says, and then the distance is gone again. “Is it because…”

“Yeah,” she breathes, grateful for the chance to hide her face. “Being friends, as a concept, gets weird when you’re… like me. Hard to know how it’s safe to act.” 

“Gotcha,” he nods, and she doubts that he really gets it, but it isn’t weird, and she doesn’t have to explain, and when his chin rests on her shoulder, too, she smiles despite herself.

“You are so short, you know that?” He’s not, not really, she’s just kind of freakishly tall, as if there wasn’t already enough freakish about her, but he lets her poke him about it anyway. 

“You are such an ass, you know that?”

“Duh,” she agrees, and then softens a little as he laughs and grips her tighter. She swallows hard, shivering a little as her body slowly remembers what it feels like to be really, properly held, and the words slip out, weakly, before she can stop them. “Please don’t let go.” 

He just hums, and Robin squeezes her eyes shut tight.

In that moment, Robin begins to wonder if Murphy’s Law could apply to things that aren’t necessarily bad, to things that just are. 

There are events and creatures and occurrences beyond belief everywhere, as it turns out, not just in movies and sci-fi books. There’s monsters and magic and long distance relationships via handbuilt radio transmitter, families made out of strangers and ten year old girls who give lectures on capitalism, and at least one real life dumb jock with a heart of gold willing to take a beating and a probably-too-tight hug for his friends. So maybe, everything that could possibly exist does, and always has, somewhere just outside of Robin’s vision where she never bothered to look, too concerned with everything that could go bad in any given moment. 

Steve speaks up, interrupting her thoughts with a concerned tone. “Hey, can I still be your friend? Wait, that sounds like something a nine year old would say, don’t answer that.” 

Robin chuckles, and he sighs, with more feeling any drama club kid she’s ever heard.

“What I  _ meant _ was, is us being friends weird, like you said?” 

“No,” she murmurs, the last of the adrenaline seeping out of her as she slowly calms down. “Not to me, not anymore.”

“Because I know, about… y’know?”

“Because you know,” she confirms, smiling.

_ Anything that can exist, will exist _ . The phrase sounds nicer in her head than the original, and it occurs to Robin that she too could be something that simply exists, rather than something that went wrong somewhere along the way. 

“Thank god,” Steve says, clearly relieved, and she pulls back, missing the hug immediately and scrutinizing him with a curious expression. “What?” He demands. “Is it so crazy to think that I’d want to keep the best friend I’ve made in, like, forever? Other than literal children?”

She squeezes his biceps, letting out another snort, and he grins sloppily back at her. 

“Look, I meant it when I said you were awesome,” he says. “And I’m totally a ride or die, so… I don’t just leave friends behind when shit gets real.”

“Steve…” she murmurs, unsure how to respond with emotion building up in her throat like this.

“I’m also, like, a top-tier wingman,” he adds, completely ruining the moment. “Just throwing that out there.”

“God, you’re so stupid, shut up,” Robin exclaims, unable to keep the grin off her face even as she rolls her eyes so hard that it hurts, and considers just hugging him again. 

“Steve!” A nearby shout interrupts Robin’s planning, and she lets go of Steve the rest of the way and looks around nervously, not ready to fend off questions about whether they’re dating just yet. He nods understandingly in her peripheral vision. 

“You know, that was probably the least weird hug I’ve had in maybe ever,” Steve says, his voice low, like it’s a secret. He rubs the back of his neck, a little awkward. “Guys don’t hug like, for real, and – well, you know. I’ve never known it’s just friends, for sure, with a girl.” 

“Well, you know now,” she shrugs, warmed all the way down to her fingertips with the comforting implications of what he’s saying. “Just friends,  _ for sure _ . So, hugs.” 

“And wingmen,” Steve adds. 

“ _ And _ wingmen,” Robin agrees with a laugh. 

“Steve, where are you?” There’s shouting again, and this time, it’s a voice Robin knows she recognizes – Dustin. 

Lighting up, she grabs Steve’s elbow, starting to pull him back into sight of the parking lot. “Over here, Dusty-bun!” She coos obnoxiously as she hops down from the curb, and Steve bumps into her shoulder clumsily as they land on the blacktop, snorting with laughter. 

When Robin catches sight of him, Dustin isn’t glowering at her like she expected. She only goes through a moment of confusion before Dustin is launching himself at Steve like a cannonball, Steve letting out a loud  _ oof _ at the impact before laughing breathlessly. 

“Hey, buddy,” he says, wincing as he ruffles Dustin’s hair, and Dustin grins up at him. “You doing okay?”

“We saved the world again,” Dustin says thickly, and Robin furrows her brow.  _ Again? _

“Well, actually,” Steve starts, pulling Dustin back to look him in the eye. “Technically, your  _ girlfriend _ saved the world this time.” 

Dustin looks like Christmas has come early, and Steve holds up his fist. 

“Bump it,” he says, and Dustin does. “She’s awesome, dude.”

“And real,” Dustin replies. 

“Absolutely real,” Steve confirms. 

“Yep, definitely real,” Robin speaks up in agreement, and Dustin turns towards her. “We’re sorry we ever doubted you, Dusty-bun.”

“Call me what you like,” Dustin shrugs, only a little miffed. “The fact is, she’s smart  _ and _ pretty, and you all just wish you had as much game as me.” 

He does his idiotic growl-purr, and Robin realizes all at once that she loves him, too, and this must be why Steve adopted him last year, because how could a person spend any amount of time with him and not want to keep him around after? 

He steps closer, and Robin pulls him into a hug without hesitation, suddenly realizing how close he — and all of them, for that matter —came to death, and unbelievably glad that he’s alive and here. And it’s no time to be planning, of course it isn’t, but her brain needs something to do, and so she plans anyway – she’ll do a jigsaw puzzle with him, in the future, and she’ll bring her book of riddles around and see how many he can figure out without hints, because he’s a smart kid, and he would like that, and maybe he likes linguistics too and they can study Russian together, for real, and —

“I’m glad you were on our team, Robin,” Dustin says, interrupting her train of thought as he squeezes her waist, and she melts a little bit.

“I’m glad you wanted me on your team,” she replies, softly. 

“Who wouldn’t?” That’s Steve, clapping her on the back, and she lets go of Dustin, smiles at both of them, holds back the reply of  _ everyone, my entire life _ that’s biting at her tongue.

And the world looks different now, with people who want her in it, that she has to sink her teeth into her lower lip to stop it from quivering, because something finally seems to be going right instead of wrong. 

_ Anything that can happen, will happen. _

Suddenly, Steve coughs, wincing as he does, and Robin suspects that there’s more blood on his arm afterwards, and she’s reminded very fully and very abruptly of the hell that they’ve just been through. 

“Have you seen a paramedic?” Dustin is asking, before Robin can manage it, and Steve just brushes it off.

“No, he’s right,” Robin agrees. “You have to get looked at, you’ve literally been tortured by Russians.”

“So have you,” he argues. 

“Yeah, but they didn’t think I was a threat and took it easy on me, the sexist pigs,” she says, adopting a mock Russian accent as she insults them. It’s weird, how blurry her memories are of that particular event, and she figures it’s because of the drugs, and that Steve isn’t remembering clearly, either. “You didn’t get so lucky.”

“Medic!” Dustin shouts, backing up as he looks around. “Can we get a medic here? My friend got tortured by Russians and needs to get checked out!”

Before long, they’re being jostled into the parking lot, paramedics pulling Steve to the back of an ambulance even as he protests, and Robin tries to stay close, but doesn’t manage it for long what with all the people milling around. She ends up a ways away, watching the activity. 

Chief Hopper is nearby, the girl with superpowers tucked under his arm, and Robin listens instinctively, curious about what his part has been in all of this. He’s arguing, violently, with the medics, about why his daughter cannot and will not go to the hospital, and how they’ll just have to send medical supplies back with him to take care of her. 

Robin thinks back to the rush of gossip that had hit the town back in the spring, when Hopper had apparently adopted a daughter. No one knew where she’d come from, and there had been a million theories and rumors going around. Robin herself had been too occupied with her own unfortunate circumstances to look into it, but as she starts to put the pieces together now, her mind spins with even more questions than before about who the girl was, clearly a far bigger story than what the town had previously assumed. 

Robin thinks that the girl is trying very hard not to cry, and she chews on her lower lip as she tries to remember her name. She’d heard Dustin shouting  _ El _ , or something like that, but Hopper is calling her  _ Jane _ , and it’s all rather confusing, especially in the commotion of his argument and how close he seems to be to swinging a punch at a member of the U.S. Military. 

She glances back over at Steve, who’s got bandages plastered around his eye now and someone listening to his lungs. He salutes her with a little wave of his fingers, and she wiggles hers in return.

When she turns her gaze to Hopper and El or Jane or whatever her name is, still bothered by not having a single name to file her under mentally, the girl is looking back at her, her expression unreadable, and Robin finds herself almost frozen under her scrutiny. If she didn’t know better, she’d say that the kid is reading her mind, uncovering every secret she’s ever kept and turning her inside out in just a few moments of observation. As she takes a moment to think about it, Robin realizes that it’s very possible that her mind is in fact being read. 

When El’s gaze releases her, Robin spots the middle aged woman who’d arrived at Starcourt with Hopper, the one she now vaguely recognizes as Joyce Byers, arguing with the soldiers and paramedics in Hopper’s stead. She’s got a kid tucked under her arm as well, Will, the one everyone still called zombie boy in passing. 

The fact that he was part of Steve’s inexplicable posse of adopted children had always seemed odd to Robin, but now, she was starting to wonder if maybe there was a larger story behind what had happened to him, as well. 

“Hey,” Steve says, his hand resting on her shoulder. “Whatcha staring at, Buckley?”

“Whatever’s going on over there,” she says, nodding towards them. “What’d they say about you?”

“I’m cleared,” Steve shrugs. “No serious internal damage, somehow. Just all the cuts and shit. And maybe a light concussion, but the hospital can’t take many patients after what happened a few days ago, so they just said don’t watch any TV for a few days.”

“Can the girl read minds?” Robin asks, the question pushing its way out of her mouth before she can stop it.

“What, El?” Steve scoffs, and they’re both watching now as Ms. Byers seems to win whatever battle she’s fighting, the soldiers dispersing. “No, she can just move stuff with her mind. Or something. I don’t know, I’ve never really been around her much.” 

“Harrington!” Hopper shouts. 

“Yes, chief?” Steve moves closer, pulling a reluctant Robin along with him. 

“Good work tonight, kid,” he says, reluctantly, then fixes his gaze on Robin. “Who’s this?”

“Robin, sir,” she speaks up immediately, and she can feel the rambling before it starts, absolutely loathes that her thoughts can be so organized but still refuse to come out of her mouth in any coherent manner. “Buckley, Robin Buckley. I’m Steve’s coworker, or friend, or maybe partner in crime, or something – but not, like, illegal crime, because we were actually just trying to uncover a Russian conspiracy and find the spy in Hawkins when we ended up in the middle of all of this, and we were the ones who were tied up and almost killed –”

Steve elbows her, hard, and she shuts up, muttering an apology. “She’s a friend, chief,” Steve says. “She, like, single-handedly decoded the Russians’ secret communication, and she’s the only reason any of us got out of their facility alive.” 

That last bit isn’t quite true, Dustin was more responsible for that, but Robin just smiles quietly anyway, leans against Steve a little as Hopper quirks an eyebrow at them.

“Is that right?” he asks her, and she nods once, determinedly keeping her mouth shut. “Well, alright then. Good work tonight, Miss Buckley.” 

She stares at him, and Steve nudges her again, prompting her to speak. “Th-thank you, sir.” 

“You’re not gonna go running your mouth about what you’ve seen tonight, are you?” he says, and it’s a warning, not a question, so she just shakes her head solemnly. “Not the monster that wrecked my cabin, or the goddamned Russians, or my daughter’s – my daughter’s  _ abilities _ ?”

It’s only then that Robin identifies the gruff wince on his face as fear for the girl, his kid, and she immediately relaxes as she’s able to categorize his behavior properly. There’s something very touching, she thinks, about how protective he is over someone who could probably tear all of them to pieces with nothing more than the power of her mind. She likes him, she decides. 

“I won’t tell anyone anything,” she says. “I swear.” 

“Good,” he says. “If you manage to keep your mouth shut, then I can protect you from these hulking idiots taking you in or putting you in witness protection or some bullsh–”

“Hop,” Ms. Byers admonishes, cutting him off before he can curse around the kids, again. 

“I understand, sir,” Robin says, nodding quickly. “I won’t say anything.” 

El is staring at her again, and there’s a tiny smile on her face, now, and Robin is struck to her very core by how genuine it is, that she can still manage some semblance of sweetness even after everything she’s been through.

“She won’t,” Steve confirms, and Hopper nods.

“God, where am I gonna send all of you?” Hopper mutters to himself, and Ms. Byers rests her hand on his arm, gently. 

“Let me handle it, Hop,” she says, barely audible. “You can go talk them out of coming after all the kids, and I’ll host.” 

“Joyce…” he’s talking in a low voice now, too quiet to hear, and El and Will are both watching them. As they go back and forth, more familiar people start to converge on their location, ones that Robin recognizes from Starcourt – a few more of Steve’s kids and Nancy Wheeler – almost as if it was agreed upon beforehand that they’d all meet there when everything was over.

“Alright,” Hopper finally says, Ms. Byers nodding at him encouragingly. “You’ll all go back to Ms. Byers. She’s in charge now. Make sure everyone’s piled into cars,  _ legally _ , call families or whoever else you need to, and don’t leave there until I’ve come back to give the all clear.”

He’s so efficient, and in fact, all of them are, that Robin would almost think that they’ve done this before.  _ We saved the world again _ , she remembers Dustin saying, and as she looks at mysteriously back-from-the-dead Will Byers and preteen-Jean-Grey El who’d appeared inexplicably in Hawkins in the middle of the school year, it occurs to her that maybe, they have. 

Ms. Byers starts organizing, and everything happens very quickly after that. Robin keeps ahold of Steve’s arm, not wanting to get lost in the crowd for the third time. Even though she doesn’t know hardly any of the people she’s being hustled away from Starcourt with, no one seems to question her presence, and she doesn’t feel like the odd one out, an unusual thing for her.

The night is full of unfamiliar emotions, it seems, and even though the whole world is rapidly shifting, Robin thinks that the biggest change is most likely the fact that for once in her life, she’s actually allowing herself to feel all of them.

She ends up stuffed in the back of a car she thinks is Jonathan Byers’, in between Steve and Max Mayfield, the mouthy redhead who was among Steve’s adopted kids. Max is sniffling, obviously still upset over what had happened to her brother, and she’s nearly unrecognizable like this, so much smaller and quieter than usual. 

Robin can’t say she’ll miss the near sociopathic nightmare that was Billy Hargrove. She’s seen him grab Max all too hard in a way that makes her suspect he’s hurt her in other ways, too, and she’s pretty sure he would’ve been a relentless bully towards the few people she calls friends had he not been too much of a coward to pick on people his own size. The world is probably better off without him, based on what she knows, and she thinks that Max knows that, too. But the kid is only barely fourteen, by Robin’s estimate, probably confused and terrified after seeing something so horrible, and she’s clearly distraught, wiping at her eyes furiously. 

“Hey,” she murmurs, nudging Max with her arm, and Max stares up at her, the look in her eyes so incredibly vulnerable that it strikes her to her core. “It’ll be okay,” she says, quietly, knowing it doesn’t mean hardly anything, that it isn’t even necessarily true.  _ Shit _ . “But I know it isn’t right now,” she adds, quickly, watches Max’s lower lip tremble, just a little. “And… and you don’t have to be tough right now, either. It’s, um… it’s okay to not be.” 

Max’s mouth twists, and for a moment, Robin thinks that she’s going to snap at her and turn away. She wouldn’t blame her, honestly — she’s never been very good at conversation, or at comforting people, and she’s pretty sure this attempt was just another bust. But then, the opposite happens instead, the younger girl’s expression crumpling as more tears streak down her face, and Robin wraps an arm around her without even thinking about it, pulling Max closer and feeling her sob weakly into her shoulder. She tucks her chin on top of Max’s head, and murmurs reassurances softly, completely and utterly out of her depth and relying on the newfound caring instincts that she’d been convinced, up until now, she completely lacked. 

Now, she can’t help but wonder if they’d been there all along, shut into corners that she refused to investigate, too scared of what she’d find in the depths of her own being if she let her emotions overflow past the cautious neatness of her conscious mind. 

_ Anything that can be felt, will be felt.  _

She hardly even realizes that she’s started tearing up herself until Steve’s rests on top of hers, squeezing reassuringly. She opens her mouth, about to try to laugh it off, comment that she doesn’t know what’s wrong with her, but then, Max’s slender arm works its way behind her body to hold onto her waist, and she gives up and just lets herself cry, too exhausted to try to keep it together around people any more. 

No one asks her why she’s crying, and that’s a gift, she realizes – to be able to cry off years of loneliness surrounded by people who accept her presence without question, who understand the need for emotional release after trauma, even if they might not realize the specific, insidious nature of the trauma she’s gone through.

“Alright, everyone out!” Nancy Wheeler calls as the car comes to a stop, and Robin releases Steve’s hand and wipes furiously at her eyes, letting go of Max. 

The younger girl is looking up at her with a tentative, tearful expression, and Robin meets her gaze, reaching up to brush the tears off her cheek instinctively with her knuckles. Max grabs her hand for a moment, and she doesn’t say anything, pressing her lips together hard, instead, but Robin can see the gratitude in her eyes and feel it in Max’s thumb pushed into her palm, and that’s so much more than enough. Max almost smiles, and then she’s turning and hopping out of the car and out of sight. 

Staring into the space that Max had just ceased to occupy, Robin commits the feeling of the silent  _ thank you _ to memory. Then, she files it internally like she does all the information she puts together, tucks it away in a safe place in her mind, labeled with Max’s name in a bold font and imprinted with the newfound warmth of wanting to protect and care for the younger girl in a way she hasn’t done for anyone before. 

“So, how many children are you friends with, exactly?” Steve murmurs behind her. His teasing grin is worn out and comfortably familiar, like a favorite t-shirt riddled with holes from being loved too well, and she mutters  _ shut up _ and hauls him out of the car behind her.

“I like her,” Robin says. “She reminds me of me, okay?”

“Okay,” Steve drawls, and he’s still mocking her, gently, but she doesn’t mind at all. 

Ms. Byers’ house is too small for the dozen people who cram inside, and Robin ends up perching on the end of a couch tentatively, unsure if it’s allowed but needing to station herself somewhere. Nancy is fussing over Steve gently in the kitchen, and Robin isn’t sure whether to pity him or not, what with the girl he’d allegedly been in love with so close but unattainable. But she thinks she knows, at this point, how Steve looks at women he’s interested in, and his expression couldn’t be farther from that now, as he assures Nancy in a low voice that he’s fine and swats her hands away exasperatedly, like they had never been anything more than friends at all. 

Robin thinks back to Steve’s confession, the one that had preceded her own, to him describing her like some storybook heroine, so sweetly that she couldn’t help but smile and wish that she had the capacity to want him back, if only so she could try to be the perfect girl he clearly thought she was.

He had let go of it so quickly, the possibility that they could be together, almost like he’d completely and effortlessly shut down that part of his brain. And judging by how he’s interacting with Nancy, he’s good at that, her Steve. He’s had practice, it seems.

With a fond sigh, Robin turns away, trusting that Steve will be just fine. The boys are on the floor of the living room, Dustin and Lucas talking in voices quieter than she’s ever heard in front of the TV while Mike leans against Will, his face so exhausted that she’s surprised he hasn’t already fallen asleep. Will is looking at him, his small face weary and secretive, and Robin thinks that he looks sad, sadder than the others, even though she isn’t sure why. 

The couch is big enough for all of the kids, but it’s occupied fully by El and Joyce Byers, a pillow tucked under El’s injured leg and her head resting gently in Ms. Byers’ lap as she waits for her bandages to be changed. There’s a thrown-together first aid kit resting on the far arm of the couch, and Ms. Byers’ hands are running through El’s hair gently, and Robin can’t help watching her, distantly processing that she’s exactly the sort of older woman that Robin would normally find herself speechless and stupid staring at, if the situation and setting were different. But the whole room is stuck in a quiet kind of shock, now, and El’s eyes are flickering around quickly, her face almost frighteningly empty, likely from the painkillers they’d given her. And it’s all the empty, post-apocalyptic kind of terrifying, and Robin can feel the horror of what happened finally started to hit her all at once. 

“Here,” Max announces, coming back from the bathroom with a bowl of soapy water and a washcloth.

Robin reaches out for it wordlessly, and Max hands it to her, an emotionless smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Thanks.” 

“Okay,” Ms. Byers says, sitting up straighter and nodding a little bit frantically. “What can I do?”

“Do you know first aid?” Max asks dully, and Robin can tell how hard she’s trying to keep it together. She wants to drop down and help her, but she feels almost paralyzed, nauseous already as she remembers what the wound had looked like back at Starcourt.

“I – I mean, a little, I do have two boys, but they don’t usually get hurt, so it’s never really been my strong suit,” Ms. Byers admits, and Max just nods resignedly. “But I can help, um, I can help with whatever you need?”

“Just keep her comfortable,” Max says, letting out a long breath. 

“They stitched her up in the back of the ambulance,” Mike volunteers quietly. “You only have to clean it.”

“ _ We _ only have to clean it, you mean.” It’s Nancy, emerging from the kitchen with her delicate jaw set firmly as she dries her hands on a dishtowel. “ _ No one _ is doing anything alone.” 

Max looks up quickly, relief on her face as Nancy kneels down beside her, just the way Robin had wanted to. Her hand is so small and pale as it rests reassuringly on Max’s back that it’s hard to imagine her firing a gun, even though Robin saw her do it not two hours prior. Nancy nods encouragingly at Max, her brows lifting slightly, eyes ice cold with fixated determination, and Robin is suddenly sure that those slender hands are callused – her knuckles from throwing a practice punch, the inside of her index finger from where it would rub against her pencil, her right palm from shooting practice. She swallows, hard, and definitely doesn’t imagine exploring those spots with her own fingertips. 

“Robin, will you hold her foot?” Max asks, and Robin shakes herself out of her Nancy-induced stupor. 

“Uh, sure,” she manages, and does what Max asked without question.

Max starts to pull up the bottom of El’s jeans, and El’s eyes finally stop wandering and land on her, a frightened expression on her face. “Hey,” Max sighs, her voice trembling a little bit. “Hey, El.”

“Max,” El murmurs in response, and she reaches for her weakly, palm crusted with dried blood and sweat. Max lays her hand in El’s without hesitation, and as she watches them, Robin almost feels as if she’s encroaching on something private, something sacred. 

“We have to change your bandage,” Nancy says, gentle but firm, taking over for Max and finishing with El’s pant leg. “Is that okay?”

“Hurt?” El asks, just a single, weak word, and Robin swallows thickly. 

“Yeah, El, it’s going to hurt,” Max replies, the words coming out slowly, like they themselves are painful. “But we have to, or it will take longer to get better and hurt for longer.” 

El nods, biting her already torn lower lip and wincing as she does, a bead of blood dripping down to her chin. Max’s own lower lip quivers, and Robin watches her squeeze El’s fingers. 

“I’m gonna need both hands,” she rasps, and El’s face twists miserably. “‘M sorry,” she murmurs, quieter still. “I know.” 

Mrs. Byers looks like she wants to say something, but she doesn’t, only rubs El’s forehead soothingly. 

“No, you won’t,” Nancy disagrees, observing the two of them with narrowed eyes, her tone still soft but leaving no room for argument. “Don’t let go. Just… tell me what to do instead.”

“Okay,” Max agrees after a beat, and El sighs, her free hand laying over the back of their joined ones, sandwiching Max’s palm between her own. 

“Ready?” Nancy asks, and El nods earnestly, her eyes squeezing shut tight the moment they’re no longer connected with Max’s. 

Max stays quiet as Nancy removes the bandage, and sucks in a sharp breath at the sight of the wound underneath. There’s a groan, but not from El, and Robin glances up to see Jonathan turn away and head into the kitchen. She recalls the moment when they’d all met in the mall, a brief reunion for those who knew each other before Jonathan had cut El’s leg open to try to get out whatever  _ thing _ had been inside. Her stomach lurches sickeningly.  _ Anything that can go wrong will go wrong. _

“Robin,” Max says, and Robin starts, remembers that she’s holding something the two of them need. “Washcloth?”

Robin soaks the washcloth in the soapy water, and passes it to silently to Nancy’s open hand. 

“Really gentle,” Max murmurs, and Nancy looks apprehensive, but her hands are almost unbelievably steady and sure as she follows Max’s orders. “Just to clean it up.” 

After a moment, Nancy hands the cloth back, stained dark with dried blood, and Max reaches for the antibiotic ointment Hopper had stolen from the paramedics, handing it to Nancy and instructing her on how much to use. Robin looks away, and closes her eyes as she hears El’s whimpers of pain, the nightmare that they’re still living in suddenly all too real. 

“Almost done,” Max breathes out, and she’s trying not to cry, Robin can tell. She calls herself a pussy, internally, and opens her eyes again, just in time to see Max cover the wound with a clean bandage. “Almost done, El, hold on.” 

Nancy is holding her hands aloft in front of her chest, fingers sticky with the remnants of the ointment, and Max fumbles, trying to hold the pad in place while reaching for the adhesive tape. Robin murmurs a  _ hey _ and places her palm gently on top, nodding at Max to finish. As Max’s shaky hands secure the bandage, Robin sees the fresh tears on her cheeks, the way she cringes at El’s pained noises. 

“Okay, there we go, that’s it,” Nancy breathes, nodding, and the tape falls onto the floor as Max withdraws her shaky hands. “Right, that’s it, all done.” 

Someone takes the bowl of water from Robin, and she vaguely processes Steve’s face before turning back to lift El’s foot and pull down her pant leg once more. El lets out a long breath, and opens her eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” Max whispers, agonized, and Robin thinks she’s going to collapse, is poised to hop off the couch and catch her, even though Nancy’s right there. But El is pulling her closer instead, and Max stays upright and lets her, looking even more frozen and helpless under her gaze than Robin herself had felt earlier that night. 

“Max,” El says, sincere even through her shaky tone, and Robin watches her thumb rub over the back of Max’s hand. “Thank you.” 

There’s a loud exhale, the air rushing out of Max’s lungs all at once, and El pulls her head into her stomach, muffling Max’s sobs that Robin still hears anyway and shushing her softly. “Going to be okay,” she says, her chin pressed against her own collarbone as she looks down at Max’s face buried in her shirt. “Not going to hurt for much longer.” 

Robin swallows back her own tears at the beautiful simplicity of the statement, and stops watching. She glances at the boys on the floor just for something to do, and is struck by how shell-shocked they seem, the scrunched up confusion on Mike’s features and the empty expression on Lucas’s face. After a moment, Nancy stands, giving the back of Max’s head one last concerned look before hurrying into the kitchen. 

“Robin,” Ms. Byers says, clearing her throat, and Robin jolts, looks back at her. “You were one of the ones who found it, right?”

“What?” Robin can’t manage to process what she’s talking about, can’t even find the corners of her body at the moment. In the kitchen, the sink turns on.

“The Russian base,” Ms. Byers clarifies. 

“Oh, yeah,” Robin nods, even though all seems trivial now, and distant, like something that someone else had gone through, rather than her. She supposes that’s a good thing. 

“Thank you,” Ms. Byers says, genuinely, and Robin’s lips part in surprise. “We would’ve died without you, me and Hopper, and worse, our kids… they could’ve gotten hurt, too.”

Robin wants to argue that she hadn’t done anything, that she doesn’t deserve praise that high, or praise at all, but none of it comes out. “I was just along for the ride,” she manages finally. “I guess you’re stuck with me for now, till the chief comes back.” 

“Not stuck,” El speaks up, still holding Max close. “With you, but not stuck.”

“None of you know me,” she says in protest, her voice coming out raspy.  _ And you wouldn’t want to, _ she thinks, managing to avoid saying it out loud like she had in the bathroom earlier.

“Hey, I know you,” Dustin protests, the conversation breaking him out of his stupor. “And that doesn’t matter anyway, because you’re one of us now.” 

And it’s only a kid she’s barely known a few days saying it, in a moment of stress and solidarity, but Robin’s heart leaps into her throat anyway. 

“We have shared trauma,” Ms. Byers says, her the corner of her mouth turning up unexpectedly, as if she’s remembering something fondly. “All of us, including you.”

“I don’t –” Robin starts, then stops, shaking her head. 

“No one else will understand what this feels like, except for the people in this room,” Ms. Byers continues, and it’s very difficult not to trust her, with her warm voice and the sincerity in her eyes. “And I would know. I’ve been through hell with them before, and now, so have you.” 

“Right, and that’s what makes you one of us,” Dustin reaffirms, deliberately, like it’s obvious and any time spent on explanations is time wasted. 

There’s a million ideas swirling in Robin’s head, but she can’t articulate any of them. The only thing she’s sure of is that the declaration  _ one of us _ is somehow more shocking than any of the incomprehensible things she’s seen tonight. 

“He’s right,” Nancy speaks up, returning from the kitchen. There’s an amused, affectionate tilt to her mouth as she eyes Dustin. “And I wouldn’t try arguing, because he’s definitely got all the logic worked out.” 

“I’ve just, I’ve never really been a part of something before the past few days, and... ” Robin finally says, trying to collect herself enough to finish her sentence. Nancy is drying her hands with a dish towel, and she’s staring at Robin curiously with those intense blue eyes, and Robin loses her train of thought. 

“That’s okay,” Dustin says, friendly as ever, and Robin manages, with effort, to tear her gaze away from Nancy. “I wasn’t ever a part of something for a long time, not till I found these guys, and it took us awhile to really get along.” 

“Hey, that’s not true,” Will speaks up, but Dustin brushes him off.

“Nah, it’s fine, it was mostly my fault,” Dustin shrugs. “I spent, like, years convinced I was the weirdest person alive, so I basically thought I was an alien by then. I guess no one’s super likable when they’re too busy thinking about how strange they are all the time. Kinda makes it hard fit in, when you can only see yourself as a loner.” 

Robin blinks.  _ Oh.  _

Dustin’s words are immediately relatable, without any effort required to understand what they mean or how they might apply. That’s when it occurs to her, with a sudden, world shifting click, that maybe, Murphy’s Law relies on outlook and perspective, rather than on fact. And then, all the pieces start to fall into place.

_ Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong, but only if you expect it to happen that way from the start. Anything that can exist, will exist, but only if you seek it out. Anything that can happen will happen, but only if you let it.  _

There’s conversation going on still, but Robin can’t process any of it, still reeling from the sudden movement of the earth under her. She glances around, spots El’s small fingers running softly and intently through Max’s hair, and in turn, Ms. Byers’ palm brushing carefully over El’s forehead, and feels the lump swell in her throat, as if she might start crying all over again. 

She hears Steve say her name once or twice, somewhere in the back of her mind, and shakes her head a little, as if she’s trying to get water out of her ears. He’s standing next to her, Nancy at his elbow, both of them looking concerned, and just the recognition that they care is enough to make her eyes go glossy. “You okay, Robs?”

_ Anything that can be felt, will be felt, but only if you’re open to the feeling.  _

“Same answer as before, dingus,” she manages to murmur, the corner of her mouth lifting. The inside of her ribcage is still too small for the beating of her heart, but something tells her it will learn to expand, now that she’s willing to let it. “Ask me tomorrow.”


End file.
